


mistakes like this

by longituddeonda



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Because I can, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fingering, Miscommunication, Porn With Plot, Smut, That's it, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, and i'm giving them angst, and it causes pain, because i'm giving the people what they want, but now its more, except they want smut and fluff, it was a oneshot, tipsy sex, two idiots who don't know how to communicate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22358983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longituddeonda/pseuds/longituddeonda
Summary: you return home having forgotten your keys, so javi lets you spend the night at his place, both of you pretty tipsy from the night out
Relationships: Javier Peña/Reader
Comments: 25
Kudos: 171





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update from feb 22, 2021: i'm aware that the consent in the fic is not super clear. that was not my intention, but it's the reality of the fic. there are discussions of consent, and miscommunication surrounding that. if/when i have the time and energy to get back into the fandom, rewriting those elements will probably be the first thing i do.

You almost fell on the way up to your apartment. Javier, thankfully, was not only right next to you, but coordinated enough to catch you.

You muttered a thank you, as you gripped the handrail a bit tighter to make it the rest of the way up the flight of stairs. Your head was still pounding, an aftereffect of the countless glasses of alcohol you had consumed earlier that night.

Earlier that day you captured one of Escobar’s sicarios after a week without leads. Connie had suggested you all go out and celebrate. The four of you enjoyed each others’ company, but, after a few drinks, Connie and Steve were all over each other, and Javier suggested they head home early to spare everyone at the bar from seeing the two undress each other on the dancefloor. 

Javier and you stayed for another hour, drinking and talking until it was late enough to call it a night and head home. 

You now stood in front of your apartment door rummaging through your purse, trying to find your keys. If they were there, you couldn’t see them. Your stomach sank. And it didn’t mix well with the alcohol. The wave of nausea and frustration caused you to lean your back against the cold door and slide down to the ground. 

You stared at a spot on the floor where a fine line split across a yellow tile. Something big must have caused the crack. Something from before the Embassy bought the building.

You glanced up. Javier fumbled with his own keys, not entirely sober enough to open the door in one try and you giggled at the sight. 

“Something funny, Y/N?” he turned around, cocking an eyebrow.

“No, no, it’s all fine Javi,” you said, drawing out the ‘i’ in his name, “it’s all good.”

You turned your head back to your purse and dumped all the contents on the ground. No keys anywhere. You groaned. You remembered where you last put them down. Unfortunately, that place wasn’t your purse.

“You sure you’re all good?” Javier asked, leaning in his own (open) doorway, grinning.

“I, uh, I forgot my keys,” you said, “left them in the drawer at the Embassy.”

“Fuck,” Javier said, “If you want, you can stay at mine tonight.”

You figured the alcohol excused the lack of tact. At least you were about 80% sure he wasn’t inviting you to have sex with him. 80% was enough for you when tipsy.

“Fine,” you said, scooping your stuff back into your purse. Standing up was a challenge, your legs a lot shakier than you were used to. You followed Javier into his apartment, muttering a ‘thank you’ along the way. He just nodded back.

“I’m gonna take the sofa, you can take the bed. The bedroom’s in the back,” he said, pointing, as if you had never set foot in his apartment before. You knew very well where the bedroom was. The two of you had been working together for almost five years now, and small dinner parties with Steve and Connie or late nights where you took work from the embassy to someone’s coffee table were not uncommon. 

“I can take the couch,” you protested, “It’s your house.”

“Y/N,” Javier walked over to you, placing his hands on your shoulders, both to stabilize you and ensure you looked him in the eye, “You’re gonna take the bed, and I’m gonna sleep on the couch. I know you, and you are going to wake up much more hungover than me, so if the bed is a bit more comfortable, at least you’ll have that going for you in the morning.”

To be honest, you had zoned out after he said the word ‘hungover.’ This was going to hurt tomorrow morning. Javier was right about that; even if you didn’t get drunk too easily, you suffered much more in the morning than the average person. Javier’s reasoning didn’t really matter either because when he held your arms with the force he did and stared into your eyes, saying your name with such agression, you melted. Anything he could have said, you would have agreed to. 

You nodded, reaching up to push him off of you. The alcohol in your head mixed with your decision making and if he stayed there even a few seconds longer, you would have fallen deep into his eyes and made a decision you would probably regret in the morning. 

You and Javier were coworkers and close friends. You started at the embassy before Steve, and the two of you had grown close, but it was never anything more than friendship. You were his wingman when you went out, you drank together, and he would share all the details of his many conquests.

He was attractive, but that was always a thought you wrote off as a product of an often lonely life (and hearing him have sex at least three times a week through the walls of your shared floor) and would push to the back corner of your mind. You liked how unproblematic your relationship was. 

“I’m gonna grab a glass of water,” you said, averting your eyes from Javier’s and making to go to the kitchen.

“That sounds like a great idea,” Javier grinned, trailing behind you. 

You grabbed two glasses and filled them from the tap before handing one back to Javier. 

“Do you have any pain relievers?” you asked. You leaned up against a counter, one hand gripped to the edge of the laminate. Your head was getting better, but it would still hurt until you fell asleep. 

“Yeah, I can go get them,” he said, exhaling with a grimace, implying he might need some himself, “Can you make some toast or something? My stomach is about to start fighting back.”

“Okay,” you smiled. You wanted toast too. Food always helps ease the pain the next morning. Anything extra in your stomach would. You rummaged around his kitchen to find the bread and popped it in the toaster. Drinking the water in your glass helped, both your head and your rationality. 

Waiting for the toaster, you let your mind wander. It would have been nice to keep drinking until you were really drunk and spend the rest of the night and morning at the bar, but any longer and Javier would have probably gone home with some girl, leaving you to make it back alone. And you would have returned to some hot, young girl, disheveled and a bit out of it, walking out of Javier’s apartment door, or worse, heard them passionately making love like you heard most nights. 

You were reasonably less tipsy when the toaster finished, and you placed each slice on a plate.

“They might be expired,” Javier said from behind you. You jumped, not having heard him approach.

“That’s fine, they usually still work, right?” you said and grabbed the bottle from his hands, dumping out a pill and swallowing it with a sip of water.

“Usually,” he grabbed a plate from the counter next to you and took a large bite, and began talking again with his mouth full, “I already took one so I hope so.”

He rested against the countertop next to you, and the two of you stood eating, the only sound the crunching of the toast. You loved the quiet. You didn’t need to talk to be okay spending time with each other. 

When you finished you set your plate down next to you and glanced up at Javier. He had stopped eating a minute ago and now stared at you, half-finished toast on the dish in his hands. 

The quiet was now heavy and uncomfortable. Something about his gaze meant something more, but you had no idea what. Your head was clear of the pain, but in its space was the crushing feeling in the air and confusion. Javier was not one to talk much, and if you said anything, it might very well ruin the night. 

He swallowed, his neck rippling in the soft light, and you stared back, goosebumps prickling up all over your arms and your stomach tightening. He analyzed you the way he would approach a new case: slowly, methodically, and with a raw intensity that scared most of his coworkers. It didn’t scare you when you were on the clock, but here? Here it sent a shiver down your spine. 

He set down his plate, and walked forwards, pinning you against the counter. A hand rose up to push back a strand of your hair that had fallen in front of your face. You breathed deeply.

Then his lips came crashing into yours, arms wrapping you, moving across your back with an intensity you weren’t used to. 

You didn’t feel the alcohol running through your body anymore, but it was clearly still working its way through your brain as you kissed back, roughly, one hand holding his jaw, the other gripping around his neck. Javier’s lips were strong and you melted into them, legs beginning to tremble. This was a bad decision, right? You were friends. 

But he shoved your hips together, pushing your further against the countertop digging into your back. You let out a moan against his lips and decided to let go. Your mind was awash with thoughts of him. Javier smiling at work, Javier rescuing you from a bad date, Javier’s eyes glistening with excitement as he brought you and Steve to his new favorite restaurant, Javier and you laughing over bad telenovelas with a bottle of wine. 

You not wanting to ruin a delicate friendship didn’t matter anymore as he disappeared and began to kiss down your jaw to your neck, mouthing at your skin, sucking marks that would be there at work on Monday, not that you could even think that far ahead. 

You worked your hands down his back, reaching the hem of his shirt, which you pushed up, finally getting to run your hands across his skin, pulling his chest towards yours. 

With a grunt, Javier reached his hands down under your thighs, lifting you up onto the counter, allowing you easier access to his face as he leaned over you to kiss you again. Your hands returned to the hem of his shirt, pulling it upwards, and he broke off to remove it. Your hands resumed roaming over his hot skin, and his hands slipped under your own shirt. Fingers brushed across your breasts and your arousal built pressure in between your legs. 

Javier pulled your shirt over your head, eyeing your chest hungrily. He leaned in to kiss your clavicle, and you threw your head back gasping. His lips moved down to the tops of your breasts, and he reached back to expertly unclasp your bra. 

Once he removed the offending article, he buried his face once again in your chest, kissing, licking, and sucking on your nipples and you squirmed on the cold laminate, wanting nothing more than to feel more of Javier. You grasped at his hips again, hoping for some friction, but he pulled back, leaving you whining. 

“Bed,” he panted, pulling you gently off the counter.

You nodded. Trying to walk with Javier proved difficult as you struggled to hold yourself up, your whole body shaking with arousal. 

He reached his arms under your legs once again, and you jumped into his chest. You pulled him close, his bare skin against your naked breasts causing a swell of need, and you kissed. Javier walked with you to the bedroom, where he dropped you on your back on the soft sheets. 

He crawled over top of you, placing kisses every inch from your navel to your neck until he reached your face to once more kiss you passionately on the lips. His hands worked to unbutton your pants and push them down to your knees. 

He teased you, hands roaming around your waist, down inside your thighs, and grabbing your ass. His fingers brushed up against your clit, and you let out a loud moan. It was like the moans that kept you up at night when Javier had other girls like you squirming in his bed. While the logical part of your brain told you to stop, you wanted more. It had been a long time since you had gotten any action, and tipsy sex between two friends wasn’t the worst that could happen, right? Plus, the alcohol in your system kept you from saying no to any of it.

“Javi,” you breathed, “Please.”

“Please what?” he asked.

“Please more,” you said. You inhaled and exhaled rapidly, you wanted friction, and you wanted something inside you. Soon.

Javier nodded. He spread his palm over you, squeezing gently, eliciting more sounds out of your control. He slipped a single finger inside you and you writhed underneath him. 

“You’re so warm, Y/N” grunted Javier, “So wet for me.”

He leaned down to press a kiss on your lips as he slipped another finger in, and began to move them slowly. You lifted your hips, desperate for more, and he bent his fingers, pushing into all the right spots. He moved with more sensitivity than before, and you took the moment to try to slow down your breathing. Sweat covered your hot body, the sheets sticking to your back, and you felt a build up inside you. As Javier moved more, moved faster, you felt even more empty. You wanted more of him. 

You shook at the brink of an orgasm. 

“Javi,” you said, “Javi, please. Please. I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum. I want you. Inside. Please.”

He stayed quiet, nipping at your neck, sucking dark purple spots into your skin. His fingers kept moving until they hit exactly where they needed to, and you cried out, clenching around him. You arched up into his chest, hands digging into his back, scratching into his skin. 

“Y/N, you’re gonna be the death of me,” Javier said, sitting up straddling your legs. You whined at the sudden lack of contact.

“Javi,” you said, head falling back onto the bed, the rest of your body vibrating with pleasure. He pulled your pants completely off, throwing them across the room. He began to take off his own pants, revealing how much you aroused him. 

Javier was no stranger to sex. He was practically an expert if there ever was one at the activity. He reached down to caress your body, rubbing across your stomach and up to your breasts where he squeezed. You were winding up again as he felt you.

You hadn’t ever let any of your alcohol-induced fantasies of Javier reach this point, never allowing yourself to imagine what this could be like. It would have ruined the easy way you lounged around eating pizza and drinking beer together and the casual physical intimacy without any tough emotions involved. But here you lay, a slave to every touch, gasping at his strokes. You wanted nothing but Javier. He was going to be the death of you. 

You were utterly fucked. Tomorrow morning, whatever happened, your relationship would never be the same. 

Grabbing your hips, Javier pulled you up onto his lap, where he teased at your entrance, his precum mixing with the results of your orgasm. You bucked your hips, silently asking for more, and Javier, firmly gripping your waist, slowly pushed in.

You moaned again with the feeling of fullness. He kept pushing in deeper and deeper. Until he pulled back, leaving you almost entirely empty again, and thrust forward once more, his hands around your waist guiding the motion. 

He built up speed and you whispered his name, once, twice, and then again until you repeated it like a mantra. His palm moved to the small of your back, pulling you up into an embrace. As he knelt on the bed, you began to bounce yourself up and down, listening to Javier’s moans.

“Fuck, Y/N. Oh god. Fuck,” Javier exhaled, “Shit, Y/N.”

You wrapped your arms around him, your breasts flush to his chest, and you kissed him, all teeth, biting at his lips, then his jaw down to his neck. His hand on the small of your back pressed you down further with every thrust, and you became desperate for a position that allowed you to feel him deeper. 

Javier wanted the same, as he pushed you back down onto the bed, pulling up your waist as he leaned over you, one hand stabilizing himself, the other wrapped firmly around your waist, holding you up in the air, close to him. His face hung over your chest, and as he quickened his thrusts, he took one of your breasts into his mouth, biting and sucking at the nipple.

He slammed his hips into yours, getting deeper and deeper as he hit a spot inside you, making you cry out, loudly. Again and again. Another orgasm threatened to erupt.

His hips stuttered as he let out a groan, and you felt him pulsing inside you. He kept rocking into you as it happened, building up, growing brighter and brighter until everything turned white and your hearing cut out.

When you finally came to, you had collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily. Javier lay on top of you, head right underneath your chin. Just as you went to reach up and wrap your arm around him, he rolled off you and lay down beside you, your arms barely touching. 

His breathing slowed, and you waited for him to say something. You hoped for the best but braced for him to kick you out as he did with all the other girls he fucked. As a neighbor with thin walls, you always heard when he finished, along with the doors opening and closing and whatever girl he had brought home leaving the apartment building shortly after. 

You didn’t expect him to prop himself up on one arm and kiss you on the forehead.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered before he lay down on his side, facing you, and wrapped an arm around your waist. 

He closed his eyes and his breathing slowed. He had almost instantly fallen asleep. You held in a little laugh. Of course Javier would fall asleep right after. You were still coming down from the high, and despite how exhausted you were, it would be a while before you drifted off. 

You smiled, watching him. Asleep with his guard down, he had the hint of a smile on his face. He didn’t appear half as tough as he did awake. 

You pulled him in closer.

“Goodnight, Javi,” you whispered into the darkness. 


	2. Chapter 2

Waking up hurt. The light filtering through the curtains was enough to send your head reeling in pain. Something heavy lay across your waist and it was warm. Very warm.

The details of the night before came rushing back into your head as you took in Javier, wrapped around your naked body. He was breathing through his nose, the warm air brushing over your bare chest. 

You stared down at the mess of brown hair and tanned skin, curving around you, glowing in the morning light. He was beautiful. If you could have one wish, it would be to lie in his embrace, tangled in the sheets for the rest of the weekend. But to do that, you’d have to admit your feelings, and you hadn’t fully accepted them yourself. 

To further complicate things, Javier didn’t do romance. As his closest friend and neighbor, you knew that better than anyone. He did quick fucks and even quicker goodbyes. You knew you only got to spend the night because you didn’t have keys to your own home.

Drinking messed with your decision making, and if it turned you into one of Javier’s fuck-buddies, you were resigned to never do it again. Lying with him in bed was a dream. But thinking about what led you there? That made your skin squirm. You knew he didn’t mean it.

You were both tipsy, maybe even a bit closer to drunk on the scale of things than you cared to admit. There can’t have been much intent to harm on his part. Just the need to seduce whatever woman was there. That’s how Javier was.

The breath on your chest changed pace then disappeared as Javier moved a bit, tilting his head up to look at you, eyes blinking open. 

“Mornin’,” he said, voice deep and sleep slurred. He grinned up at you before unwinding his arms and legs from you, rolling onto his back, and sitting up.

“Morning, Javi,” you said. It was cold without him, and you pulled the sheets tighter around you.

Javier had already stood up and was putting on his clothes.

You stared at his bare back, his shoulder muscles flexing as he pulled on one of his short-sleeved button-downs. You wanted to say something. To break the silence. But you didn’t want to feel the pain of rejection. You didn’t want a recognition of your actions, a recognition that would kill you.

He ran out of the room, and you hear a few bumps around the apartment before he returned, your shirt and bra in hand, which he threw unceremoniously on the bed, before slipping out again, this time closing the door as if to give you some privacy to change. Why he thought you needed any was beyond you. 

Of your few one-night stands in Colombia, anyone you didn’t sneak out from would hold you in their arms the next morning, cuddle, maybe even initiate some sweet morning sex. Javier hadn’t given you any time, he just disappeared.

You stood up, eyes catching on your jeans lying on the floor. The memory of you from just hours ago filled your head: you, blissed out of your mind, Javier’s mouth and hands all over you after he pulled off your pants and underwear. It was the best sex you’d had in a long time. No one ever cared so much about your pleasure too, no one took the time to care—caress you, hold you, make you cum—like Javier did, which made the knowledge that he didn’t care about  _ you, _ just the sex, even worse.

You stumbled over to pick them up, along with your panties from the day before. 

“Shit,” you said to yourself.

You had soaked through your underwear the night before, and while they may have dried out, it was still disgusting. You would have to go commando until you got back into your apartment. You slipped into your bra and shirt and pulled on your pants. Wearing the same clothes from the day before never felt good, but it was worse when they were tinged with a memory you were beginning to want to scrub out.

You knew your thoughts were only stressing you out more than necessary, so you decided it would be best to rip off the metaphorical bandaid as fast as possible and walk right out of the bedroom. You needed him to drive you to the embassy, so civility was necessary for at least another hour. You had until the next morning to figure out work.

As soon as you opened the door, you were met with the sight of Javier, walking around the kitchen, the smell of eggs wafting through the air. You smiled, at least he was nice enough to make breakfast. 

You were still best friends, of course he would make breakfast. But after that thought, the fear settled in again. He might not want this, any of it. Your relationship. Your friendship. Not after fucking everything over.

"Hey," you said, walking over to the kitchen. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe he wanted to turn around and kiss you and take you to bed again. Maybe he wanted to forget the night, write it all off as drunkenness. Maybe you’d get to return to his couch and binge  _ telenovelas _ together while drinking beer and eating deep-fried empanadas from down the street.

"Hey," Javier turned around but avoided eye contact. That hurt.

Your heart was pounding as you glanced at the spot on the counter where you sat the night before as he tore you apart with his lips.

You cursed the part of yourself that allowed Javier to take you last night. That part of your brain surely wanted to wreck as much havoc as possible, unleashing your deepest. silenced desires.

You cursed the part of yourself that still wanted him to do it again.

"I made eggs," Javier said. He didn't need to bother checking how you liked them. You had had breakfast together enough to know that much. With the spatula, he scraped the food onto two plates he had set out and handed you one. 

"Thanks," you said.

You pulled out a chair from the small breakfast table and sat down. It wasn't used much; Javi usually skipped breakfast on workdays, and when he ate at home it was at the coffee table in front of the TV or with work spread out around him. 

"I thought we'd go get your keys," Javier said between bites, "I'm meeting with Steve at noon."

It was only 11 am. The embassy was a ten-minute drive away. You knew what this meant. It was Javier pushing you out as fast as possible. Trying to remove you from his space. 

The little part of your brain that said there was still a chance that you were overthinking things was stamped out. Your relationship was over. Over because you knew he liked to have sex. Over because you dropped your pants for him. Over because he never wanted more. He wasn’t the sort of person who  _ did _ more. You knew that and still let it happen.

"Sounds good," you said. The eggs, which had tasted marvelous, now had a sour flavor. You set down the plate, no longer hungry, blinking back unexpected tears.

"I just have to go grab the office keys," Javier gestured to the other part of the apartment after taking his last bite. 

"Okay," you nodded. He disappeared for a moment and you grabbed the two dishes and placed them in the sink. 

When he returned, you picked up your purse and followed him out of the apartment and down to his car, where you sat in the passenger seat. He started the car, pulled out of the lot, and set off onto the route to work. 

The lack of words between you two was weighing heavy on your heart. Over the years, your friendship had grown such that you always had something to discuss. There used to never be any awkward moments like this. You could listen to him ramble about anything and he would do the same. If one of you was passionate about something, so was the other.

You had so much you wanted to tell him. But to say that you had wanted what you did last night would also mean admitting to  _ yourself _ that you wanted him. That your heart fluttered when you thought about late nights with takeout dinners or the inside jokes you shared at work that had you laughing hysterically while Steve looked on with disapproval. And now you knew that if you said it, he would throw you even further away.

You stared straight ahead, not wanting to risk making eye contact with Javier. If he caught your eye you knew he’d talk, try to say something to ease the pain of his rejection. 

You let go of your breath when you parked in the embassy and Javier tossed the office keys into your lap.

“I’ll wait here, we can go as soon as you find your keys,” he said.

You ran up the steps, punching in the code to enter the building before jogging through the halls. There were plenty of people who worked on Sundays, so the route was dotted with ‘hellos’ and ‘why are you in today?’s. The keys were right where you knew you had left them.

Work on Monday was going to be rough. This room was small, and with three of you in there, privacy didn’t exist. Steve was going to be caught in the middle of whatever was going on between you and Javier, and he didn’t deserve it. You put your hands down on the desk, as your headache worsened alongside a wave of nausea.

You didn’t want to get back into the car; not for another ten minutes of painful silence with Javier. But getting a ride from a coworker here wasn’t an easy task, plus you’d have to tell Javier you weren’t going with him. That was a conversation you wanted to avoid. Instead, you walked back to his car and planted yourself in the passenger seat.

“I’ve got them,” you said, handing him back his office keys.

“Good,” he started the car up to head back to your apartment complex.

You stared at your apartment keys in your lap. If it weren’t for them, you would be lying in your apartment, hungover but happy. You would have ignored the feelings that bubbled inside you when Javier helped you up the stairs, said goodnight in some stupid drunken demeanor, and collapsed on your couch.

But you had to have forgotten these keys. And Javier had to be so damn friendly and invite you in. He offered you food and painkillers, and you practically took off your shirt for him.

He had smiled at you throughout the night, the way he usually did. And when he was drunk and horny as usual, he had you, guards down and vulnerable in his own home, he pounced.  _ And you let him _ . You knew his history better than anyone. You knew what would happen. He wasn’t one to settle down, so why did you let him do it anyway?

‘Y/N, I, uh,” Javier started. You had pulled into your apartment complex and were ready to get out of the car. You looked up to see a lot of emotions you couldn’t place crossing his face. It used to be that you could tell what he was thinking, just by looking. He was almost unfamiliar now, probably reserved these emotions for his hookers. And you had just joined the club.

“What?” you said.

“Um, never mind,” Javier looked back to the steering wheel.

You opened the door and slipped out. It had started drizzling, which was refreshing in the hot, tropical air. By the time you got to the front door, you’d be soaked.

You heard the car start up behind you, and you stopped in the rain, turning around as the large car pull out and drive away.

It was about two minutes later that you realized you hadn’t moved, lost in your thoughts about losing Javier. You used to be friends and now you weren’t sure what you were. If you even were anything anymore.

You looked down at yourself, now properly soaked through by the precipitation. You still wore the clothes from the night before, dirty from the long day at work, sweaty from your partying, and seeped in the memory of them being ripped off by warm hands. Not having underwear didn’t help.

It felt disgusting. You wanted to burn these clothes as soon as you removed them. You wanted to curl up in your pajamas and drink to forget.

Back in your apartment, you stripped off and jumped into the shower. You lingered, letting the hot water wash off the feeling of impurity. When you got out, you stood in front of the mirror and stared at the reflection of your bare skin.

Hickeys. The color of wine sucked into your skin. At least thirty. There was a line running straight down your stomach, and more covered your breasts. Some lay above, dotting your chest and climbing up towards your jaw.

You reached a hand up to your neck, your fingers brushing over the marks. In the moment, Javier’s mouth on your skin was the best thing you had ever felt. It had elicited a number of obscene noises. Javier knew how to work you into a writhing mess. And you had loved it. You closed your eyes and exhaled.  _ Fuck _ .

Slipping on some new clothes, you set out to spend the rest of the day doing some errands and trying to distract yourself. You got one day off a week, so groceries were a priority. However, since you had arrived in Colombia you had fallen for the coffee and a stop at your favorite café was first on the list.

You took one last look in the mirror before you left. With the warm weather, there wasn’t much you could wear that would be comfortable and cover all the marks covering your body. You would just have to settle for a few exposed bruises on your neck.

No one commented. Which was good, but to be expected. No one would dare call out a stranger for visible marks. In all likelihood, they glanced at you and looked away, knowing the telltale signs of a prostitute. It didn’t help that you felt like one too.

The worst was when you got back to the apartment and Javier was a flight of stairs ahead of you. He was never good at opening his door in a timely manner and you reached your floor while he was still fumbling at the lock. When he heard your approach he looked up before turning back to his apartment, jiggling the keys until the door flung open and he slipped inside.

He didn’t even say hello.

You entered your apartment and locked the door behind you. The nasty feeling in your chest had been growing all day, and now it was worse than the hangover that morning. It seeped out of your heart, consuming your stomach and your core, spilling outwards into your limbs, and overtaking your head.

You needed to sit down. Your head was spinning.

The couch was closest, and there was a half-empty bottle of wine along the way there. You grabbed it. Collapsing on the sofa, you grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV. It was a rerun of a show from a couple years ago. Some Colombian romance about an ex-soldier. You and Javier had watched it together on late warm nights a few years back. You flicked off the bottle stopper and let it clatter onto the vinyl floor. You brought the bottle to your lips and took a large swig.

Leaning your head back, staring at the ceiling, you let out a loud groan. This was the worst possible outcome. Javier just ditched you this morning, threw your soiled clothes on the bed, then barely said anything, uprooting everything your relationship used to be. And now you felt like a whore.

You didn’t want to go to work the next day. You didn’t want to sit in the same damn office with Javier, closed off, regarding you with the dismissiveness he never used on you.

Another sip of the dark wine. It was good, the numbing effect. So good you felt your eyelids drawing heavier and heavier until you drifted off.

You woke up on Monday morning, reeking of alcohol with a sore neck from sleeping in the less-than-ideal position on the hard couch. The TV was still on, now playing the morning news, and a breeze wafted in from a window you left open. The pale yellow curtains floated around in the room. You blinked a few times, wincing at the bright light.

You pried yourself off of the sofa and into the shower. You were dressed before you checked the time and realized you were going to be a half-hour late for work.

“Fuck it,” you said to the empty apartment, sitting down to have a pastry you bought the day before.

It used to be that Javier would knock on your door if he was leaving and still saw your car in the parking lot. He would have made sure you had breakfast. He would have made you that plate of eggs.

He didn’t do any of that. You supposed it was to be expected. You had gone and fucked it all up. It kept repeating in your head: Javier was drunk, and you just  _ let him _ fuck you.

Traffic was a bit lighter when you missed the morning rush, so you weren’t as late as you feared.

“Looks like someone had one hell of a weekend.” Steve joked as you walked into your shared office.

“What?” to say you were confused was an understatement. How would he know about what happened? Unless Javier had told him when they went out the day before. Shit.

“Have you, perhaps, found yourself a swarth of lovers like Javi’s ‘informants?’” he smirked.

So he didn’t know about you and Javier? But why was he—? And then it dawned on you.

The love bites, still dark red as ever, covering your exposed neck and the part of your chest that was exposed in the blouse you chose to wear.

You felt your face turn hot, your skin probably turning into a bright flush, but you knew Steve was only trying to get under your skin.

“And you haven’t? I saw you and Connie about to get it on right in the booth,” you quipped, but it didn’t have the same punch as usual. You weren’t even sure if it had even made sense because halfway through saying it, you caught sight of Javier.

He sat at his desk, sinking into his chair. He looked miserable. There were dark rings below his eyes, his eyelids were red and puffy, and his shoulders slumped. There was no energy keeping his body upright, much like a half-deflated balloon, hovering a few feet above the floor.

“You doin’ alright, Peña?” you asked.

You didn’t usually use his last name like the others at the embassy did, but it didn’t feel right to call him Javier when less than 48 hours ago you were moaning his first name like it was the only word you knew.

He looked up at you, and his face turned sort of queasy-looking. It’s like a punch in the gut. He can’t even look at you.

“Just fine, Y/L/N.” he muttered, and turned is attention back to whatever file he had been reading before you came in.

Steve just glanced between the two of you, confusion filling his face. He shot you a quizzical look. You shook your head back at him and shrugged. There was no way you could explain this.

It was possibly the quietest day you had ever experienced in the five years you had worked there. Every so often you would look over to Javier, usually staring at the same page of a file from 30 minutes before. Paperwork days, like this one, were always a drag, but the easy conversation between you three helped.

You felt bad for Steve. He might not have felt as shitty as you did or Javier looked, but he had to sit through the silence too. There was no reason why he should have to suffer, yet you saw no solution.

At exactly 12:30 you pushed your chair back and announced you were taking your lunch break. You needed to get out of the room. Fresh air and some fresh food were beginning to sound more like water in a desert than was likely healthy.

Lunch was a short affair, but it was nice to walk outside the embassy to the café a couple blocks over. You returned, hesitating before ascending the stairs to the main entry.  _ Just 3 more hours _ , then you could go home. There wasn’t really a schedule keeping you there that long, but there was work to be done and a mutually agreed-upon commitment to keep the paperwork evenly spread.

You reached your office knowing you should feel refreshed. Instead, you were dreading any moment in which Javier might have to talk to you. You didn’t think you could handle another one of his foreign expressions or the look of unease upon seeing you this morning.

The door was open, and you could hear hushed voices inside.

“...ruined everything now,” that was Javier’s voice.

“What could have been so bad?” asked Steve.

“God, Murphy, I—Y/N, she was,” Javier took a breath, “she was drunk.”

They were definitely talking about you. Steve obviously knew now. Knew about you drunkenly throwing yourself at Javier. They hadn’t noticed you watching from the side of the doorway, and you stepped back a little further from sight, but not out of earshot, as to continue listening. It wasn’t the most moral of your decisions, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care much about that. Not after everything else that had happened.

“So were you, Javi,” Steve said, “I saw you when Connie and I left that place. You were on your fourth glass.”

“We stayed for another hour, I maybe had one more. By the time we were back at the apartments, I was almost completely sober.”

“And?”

“And Y/N can never find out! If she did, Murphy, she’d hate me. More than she probably already does.”

“Why would she? You two are best friends. I don’t think she could ever hate you.”

“She would. If she found out that I initiated it while sober? With her? While she was in a compromised state? She’d hate me for using her like that.”

You couldn’t believe it. Everything. All of your worries. Right there, laid out by the man who’d caused them. He had used you. Used you and left you like all the other girls he fucked.

The pain was bubbling up and you could feel tears forming in the corners of your eyes. How had you fucked up so much?

“Javi, she might be mad, sure,” Steve said, “but you need to fix things. She’s your coworker. And work isn’t happening because of this.”

“I just—I regret sleeping with her, Steve,” Javi said and you felt your entire body go numb. “I wish I hadn’t let her into my apartment, anything to keep what happened from happening.”

An ugly sound erupted from you before you could stop it, something halfway between a sob and a silent scream, and you flung your hands up to cover your mouth.

Steve and Javier turn at the noise. Javier tensed up and his eyes widened. It was like you were standing naked in front of them, all your insecurities bared raw to the world.

You felt like you were going to throw up.

You turned on your heels, needing to get out of there as fast as possible. The tears were now streaming down your face.

“Wait, Y/N!” Javier yelled, causing plenty of others in the building to turn their heads.

You kept walking, faster. You burst through the door and continued to where you parked your car. You were almost to the lot when you felt a hand on your wrist, gentle but firm.

You whipped around to see Javier, standing, out of breath, his lips half-parted and he looked like he had seen a ghost.

“Leave me alone, Javi,” you sighed, trying to pull yourself out of his grasp.

“Can I explain? Y/N? Please? I—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you said with finality, managing to yank yourself from him, and storm into your car.

The car started and you backed out of your spot. You drove away, Javier remained standing where you left him.


	3. Chapter 3

In the hours you had been lying on the couch letting the tears dry up on your skin, the pain of rejection had numbed and you were left with anger and self-pity at your own stupidity, for thinking it would be more, for thinking it meant something, for thinking Javier would care about you after everything.

Someone knocked on your door and you couldn’t bring yourself to stand up and get it. You didn’t want to talk to anyone.

Whoever it was could wait until tomorrow. Or next week. Whenever you had recovered.

They knocked again and you groaned. Didn’t they understand? No answer meant you weren’t home. Or you weren’t interested. Perhaps both.

You stayed seated on the couch.

“Y/N?” said a muffled voice from behind your front door.

You couldn’t tell who it was. It didn’t matter, whoever it was wouldn’t get an open door.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there,”  _ Shit.  _ That was Javier. “Connie said she heard you come in. Unless, of course, you’re not there. In which case, I guess I’ll say it anyway, and—”

“What the fuck do you want!?” you swung the door open. In the time he had taken to say those sentences the latent anger had coursed through your veins, and all you wanted was for Javier to hurt as much as you were now. You had sprung up from the couch and stormed to the door, where you now stood, taking in Javier.

He looked as bad as he did that morning at work. If not worse. It made you feel better. If only a little bit. Maybe he hadn’t slept last night. Maybe he had cried. Maybe, you thought hopefully, he felt guilty. Whatever the reason, seeing red rings around his eyes and the forlorn look on his face made some sadistic part of your brain smile.

“Can we talk about this like adults?” he said.

“You clearly don’t want to talk about it like an adult, gossiping behind my back,” you said. “You even fucking told Steve, and now he knows how much of a  _ whore _ I am.”

“I—you’re not—,” Javier sputtered, “I just meant we need to talk about things, we haven’t talked, and obviously that hasn’t been good.”

“We don’t need to talk, you’ve said enough as it is,” you exhaled.

You didn’t know how to do this. You didn’t know how to be angry at Javier. In the entire half-decade you had known him, you had never felt this hurt by him. You had yelled at each other, sure, but never with the ire that filled you now. It took all your energy to stay wound up and strong in front of him when all you wanted to do was curl up and cry.

“Earlier today,” Javier slowed down, “I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean what? I heard  _ all  _ of it.”

“Look, Y/N, I know I fucked up, I said some stuff that I shouldn’t—”

“You fucked up when you looked at me on Saturday night, perfectly sober, and saw another conquest, some drunk girl to take advantage of and not your best friend. Not when you said some shit in the office!” you yelled, and some of the tears you were trying to keep in spilled out.

He stepped backward.

“I’m really sorry, I, uh,” he said, his voice dropping to a tone just above a whisper, “I don’t think I realized how much it would ruin things.”

You looked down at the floor. You couldn’t bear to look Javier in the eyes as you admitted, “Don’t you understand? It hurts, so much, it hurts to think about how close we used to be. And now all that is gone.”

“We can still be friends,” he said, and you looked back up at him.  _ How could he say that? _

_ “ _ Javier,” you breathed, keeping your voice as low and composed as possible, “We can’t be friends anymore, and you fucking know it.”

“No! The other night doesn’t have to change things,” Javier said, and that had to be the closest either of you had gotten to actually talking about what happened in front of each other.

It would have been so easy to say yes. To let things go back to how they were before. That’s what he was offering? Wasn’t it? A chance to forgive and forget.

Except you wouldn’t ever be able to forget. You would see him every day at work. Maybe the pain of what he had said would dull, you’d forget some of the details, but you’d forever be plagued by his words. Going back to how it was before would mean sitting next to him eating calzones from the only good pizza place in Bogotá, going out to bars together, watching him take home other girls. And you couldn’t do that. Now that you had had a taste of things, there was no going back. It would hurt too much.

“The other night was a mistake,” you said, your heart starting to fall apart in the process, “One that I will not be making again.”

Javier’s face fell, and you almost felt bad. You almost wanted to take it back.

“Y/N,” his voice was strained, “Please—”

“Get out of my doorway, Javier. Get out and leave me alone,” you said. It was out of desperation, lacking any force, but he got the message. Javier turned around and, making no motion to return to his apartment, headed straight down the stairs.

You closed the door and collapsed on the floor. You realized then that your face was wet with tears and your whole body hurt.

You could have been sitting there for seconds or hours when you heard another knock.

“Go away, Javi!” you called.

“It’s not Javi, Y/N,” it was a female voice. Connie. You stood up, wiping your eyes on your sleeves, and opened the door.

“Hey,” you tried to smile.

“Oh, hon,” Connie’s voice was full of sympathy as she pulled you into a warm hug.

She closed your door behind you and led you to the couch, where she sat you down.

“I heard some yelling, Steve came home saying you all had a rough day and Javi didn’t look too well himself. I wanted to check in,” Connie said.

“What did Steve say?” you weren’t sure you wanted Connie to hear about things from Murphy, especially given that he got his information from Javier.

“Not much, Javier ruined the day somehow and because of that no one’s getting any work done?” she said.

You laughed a bit, “Of course he was worried that we weren’t working.”

“But do you want to tell me what happened?” Connie said, “I know you and Javier are best friends, but—”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Connie,” you said, “It’s not important.”

“I thought you’d say that,” she smiled, and you silently thanked her for not calling you out on your bullshit. You both knew how important this was.

“Why don’t we watch some TV together, some trashy, feel-good thing and forget about stuff for a bit,” she said, and you nodded.

Connie was incredible when it came to comforting you, there was no question about why she worked in hospitals and with kids. She cared so much about people.

She reached over you to grab the remote and flicked on your small television. After switching between a few channels, she found a black and white American romance film from the fifties that she freaked out about.

You leaned back on the couch, knees curled up underneath you, and let the film wash over you. It was dramatic as hell, lots of crying in the rain and emotional monologues. It was easy to get caught up in it while also ignoring the entire plot.

About an hour in, the girl in the movie was bawling to the guy and he was tugging her into her arms and you turned to Connie.

“Javier and I slept with each other,” you said.

“What?!” she looked surprised. That was good, you supposed. It meant Steve was good at keeping his mouth shut, “What happened?”

“You remember Saturday night? When you and Steve left the bar early?” you said. She smiled, probably reliving the memory. You knew that you and Javier weren’t the only two fucking that night.

“Yes.”

“Well, Javi and I, we stayed for a while, I was drunk, and we went home. I left my keys at work and he let me stay in his apartment, and we were taking pain meds and eating toast before going to sleep when he... when he kissed me,” you took a deep breath, “He kissed me and then we made out in the kitchen, and then everything else happened and we fell asleep in his bed together.”

“Y/N! That’s good, right?” she said. Your brow furrowed.

“I mean, you’ve been wanting to sleep with him for years, I’ve seen the way you look at him,” she continued. You felt the blood rush to your cheeks as you blushed.

“I, uh, yeah, I don’t know, Connie,” you felt yourself starting to tear up again, “It was awful.”

The sobs took over your body and Connie pulled you in, letting you cry it out. When you calmed down, you continued.

“I thought I wanted it, I really did. It wasn’t just the alcohol. We woke up and he just got up and left, threw my clothes on the bed, didn’t say a word. He ignored me as much as possible. I—” the tears returned and you paused.

“You know how he is, Connie, he doesn’t do emotions. He doesn’t do relationships. I just, I felt disgusting and he kept going on with his life like I was another one of his informants or prostitutes, and he stopped talking to me, like we were no longer friends.”

“God, Y/N, that’s... I’m so sorry. I knew Javi was bad about girls, but with you? I didn’t think he could do that to you, you’re so important to him.” Connie was genuinely concerned. You would have to buy her that bottle of wine she loves from Medellín next time you were up there for work. She deserved something for sitting through you crying and listening so well.

“I didn’t think so either, but I guess I was wrong,” you said, “At work today, I went out for lunch and I came back. He was talking to Steve, and—Connie it was  _ awful— _ he said he was actually sober and he used me to sleep with, and then he said he regretted all of it and wished it hadn’t happened and—I don’t know, it was terrible and I didn’t know what to do. I left.”

“Y/N,” Connie whispered. She didn’t know what else to say.

“I just, I hate that despite how awful he is, I still love him,” you mumbled.

Did you say that out loud? You hadn’t even admitted it to yourself, but as you said the words, you knew how true they were. You loved Javier, and it hurt, a lot, that he didn’t feel the same.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, you don’t deserve this,” Connie said. “If that’s how Javier’s going to act, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

“I know, but even if he doesn’t deserve me, I still want him, I still love him,” you cried, “Does that make me a terrible person?”

“Of course not,” Connie pulled you into a hug, “Of course it doesn’t.”

You sat like that for a while, the movie still playing quietly in the background.

A soft knock sounded on the door along with Steve’s voice, asking for Connie. She stood up and you followed her, opening the door.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m sorry about today,” Steve looked uncomfortable, “And I’m going to have to steal Connie from you, someone from work is calling the apartment? Something urgent.”

Connie nodded and kissed your cheek goodbye before rushing up the stairs.

“So, um,” Steve started.

“Yeah, I reacted badly today, I know,” you said, wanting to cover up how much it hurt.

“No,” he said, “You didn’t. I wanted to tell you that maybe you shouldn’t come in tomorrow. Unless, you know, you and Javier figure things out.”

“Steve, I can’t,” you protested, “It’s my job, I don’t want to take a vacation day—”

“Not a vacation day. A break. No one has to know, and, between you and me, Javier said some shitty things. He deserves to suffer through some paperwork, and I don’t think anything’s going to happen if you’re both there.”

“No, I can come in, I can work somewhere else in the building, in the conference room or something,” you said. “I can go.”

“Y/N, you deserve a break. Please?”

“Fine, but I’m coming back on Wednesday,” you said, “and that’s non-negotiable.”

He laughed, “Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you workaholic.”

“Right, well, thanks, Steve,” you said, “Um, good night. Say thank you to Connie for me too, she was an angel.”

“Yeah, good night, Y/N,” he said before walking up the stairs.

You closed the door and walked back into the heart of your apartment. It felt a lot better now, having the support of Steve and Connie. Everything still hurt—Javier’s words from earlier, you rejecting his friendship—and your social life had fallen apart, but you had begun to accept things.

The rest of the evening passed slowly. You turned off the TV and started making dinner. At one point, you heard Connie and Steve leave the building.

A car alarm went off in the distance, and you walked over to your window. It was dark outside, the street lamps casting an orange glow across the roads. Bogotá was loud at night, the sound of parties spilling out into the streets and drunken festivities were commonplace, even on a weekday. From your second-floor apartment, placed just outside of the more lively part of the city, this noise was muted but still provided a background that was only somewhat welcome during nights where you needed sleep.

You closed the window, stopping the draft that blew around your home and shutting out any exterior noise. You wanted some quiet.

Seldom did you have a night like this. You had finished your dinner, and yet there was nothing to do. You weren’t in the mood to go out and you didn’t have anyone to do so with. Javier wasn’t available, you couldn’t go over to his apartment for a drink, and he wouldn’t be wandering into your apartment to sit around and talk. The thought struck you like a stray bullet: he probably would never wander into your apartment again.

Looking back at your conversation from earlier, both options sucked. Going back to being friends would kill you from the inside, working its way through your body like a plague, destroying you. But this wasn’t much better. Now, you were nothing to Javier. He was going to be almost entirely gone from your life. You were just another girl he had needed to warm his bed for a night. And you still loved him.

Wednesday, you’d go into work, and he would be there, snarky grin and all, and you’d have to sit next to him, this time as no one but a coworker.

What if you requested a transfer? You could go back to the states or hit up another country. Las Honduras, right over the border, had drug issues too, some of the narcos in Colombia decided the police crackdown was already too much and relocated their operations over the border. You could go somewhere else, and never have to look Javier in the face again.

That was a horrible idea. You were as much into this mess with Escobar as Javier and Steve, and you were going to see this through. Once Escobar was gone, though? you were going to run and never look back.

With nothing to do in the hour or two before falling asleep, you curled up on the couch, draping a blanket across your lap, and opened the book you started months ago. Life hadn’t allowed you to read, let alone set aside enough time to finish a book.

You could have spent more of your free time like this, but exploring Bogotá with Javier, clubbing with Steve and Connie, going out to dinner with everyone, that was how you liked to use your time.

After a couple hours, you heard the distinct sound of someone climbing the stairs outside your apartment and the elongated jingling of keys unlocking Javier’s door. You looked at the clock, it was almost eleven. Apparently, Javier had a late night too, but he was out doing something.

If you hadn’t fought, you might have been invited out too. Gotten to go dancing. Or something.

You closed your book. It was time to call it a night and go to sleep. You folded up the blanket, draped it over the back of the couch, and started walking back to your bedroom when you heard it.

A moan.

Definitely a moan. Coming from Javier’s apartment. You had gotten used to it, it was a common sound on any given night the past 5 years. But tonight? Tonight it came with the feeling that your heart had been ripped out and cut into little pieces in front of you.

You could even pick out Javi’s groans from the gasps of whatever woman he had brought back with him. It was the same sounds that drove you to orgasm before. And you recognized your own voice in that of the woman’s.

Did she know how many women he did that too? Did he seduce her in the kitchen the same way he did with you? Did she know that he’d kick her out as soon as they finished? Did she know she was going to be just another body in the long line of women Javier used to fuck out his problems?

You were frozen in the hallway, and the tears were falling freely and silently down your cheeks.

It kept going. This? This was torture. You thought about transferring for the second time that night.

The moans paused, and someone let out a sound that was a lot closer to a scream. You were about to run into the bathroom and vomit. But then there was a yell, and some more shrieking. It sounded like they were arguing. You couldn’t make out the words, but it didn’t sound good.

This was new. Of the hundreds of one-night-stands he had had, this was the first to end this way.

A door slammed and someone was clearly storming down the stairs, out of the building. If your heart jumped a bit at the woman’s exit, you weren’t about to acknowledge it.

You weren’t sure what to do. It didn’t sound like anyone was hurt, but you couldn’t be sure. DEA agents lived a dangerous life. You were constantly at risk. If something happened?

You cleared those thoughts. It was just sex that ended badly. Sex that broke your heart, but nevertheless was just sex.

Closing your eyes tightly to clear the tears, you continued to your bed. You couldn’t deal with this anymore. It would have to wait until tomorrow.

You changed into your pajamas, went to brush your teeth, and lay down. You were beginning to drift off when for the fourth time that night, you heard a knock on the door.

It sounded urgent.

You dragged yourself out from under the covers and up from the bed, trudging to the door and swinging it open.

Javier stood in front of you, shirtless, hair mussed up, lips swollen, and wet tear trails glistening on his cheeks in the hall light.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

“Javi—” you started. You were tired and it was late. Your stomach was churning at the sounds of the previous half-hour. “You need to leave.”

You closed the door only for it to be stopped, inches from the frame.

“Wait! Y/N,” Javier said, “I can’t lose you.”

You knew the sound of tears in someone's voice. Hell, you sounded the exact same when talking to Connie. You didn’t pity Javier the way you assumed Connie pitied you, but you couldn’t help but wonder what had happened and why he was at your door, again. 

“You already did, Peña.” Your voice came out cold and flat. 

“I know and I fucked up,” he said. 

You laughed. That was the understatement of the century. 

“Yeah. And I lost my best friend.” You took a deep breath. “Javi, I don't have the energy for this, I just want to go to sleep. You’ve done enough damage today.”

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were still recovering from everything Javier had said. It hurt, knowing he didn’t care. That you had gone from being everything to one another, to being practically nothing. You wanted him back, but you knew you couldn’t ever be the same around him. It was too hard. 

Javier was still standing in the doorway. Maybe saying what you had was too harsh. Too hard for a guy who had clearly been crying and was only half-dressed. But you were still processing what he had done. Hearing him fuck another woman, so soon after you fought, so soon after treating you like trash. 

It had hurt more than you expected it to. 

You weren’t in a relationship, so he had all the right to do it. But that didn’t cushion the blow. You had just admitted you loved him. To Connie, and to yourself. Hearing him only felt like the final twist of a knife you never expected to have been impaled in your chest. 

You motioned to turn around, about to close the door again. 

“I love you.”

You froze. Javier’s eyes were wide and his mouth parted in shock at his own words. 

Once you recovered from those words, ones you hadn’t heard spoken to you in a long time, ones that had probably not come out of Javier’s mouth in a long time either, the humor of it all struck you. 

He said he cared about your friendship. He said he was scared of losing you. He said he loved you. But all his actions didn’t match up. There was no way he could be telling the truth, no way that the two of you felt the same way about each other. That didn’t happen to people like you: DEA agents working their asses off, numb to everything, killing people. You didn’t get happy endings like that.

You laughed out loud, and Javier still stood there, watching.

“Is that why you fucked someone else?” you asked.

Javier paused, something flashing across his eyes. Fear, maybe? You maintained eye contact with him, waiting for a response. Anything to explain the roller coaster of emotions that was now flooding your body.

“I thought I had lost you, I needed to, you know,” he said, “but all I could think of was you.” 

He was looking down at the ground, and you thought you heard a sniffle but you couldn’t be sure. This wasn’t the Javier you knew. Not the cocky asshole who would push people away and throw up a middle finger at the first sight of emotions. This was someone else. Someone giving up their shell, baring themselves to you. 

“I said your name,” Javier whispered.

You couldn’t help your heart from soaring at those words before feeling the pang of guilt. You imagined him in bed with the woman, how she would have been enamored by him. Like everyone was. Like you were. How at the heat of the moment, no matter how impersonal things were, Javier let out another person's name. You had felt that sting before, sometime back in college, and you wouldn’t wish it on anyone. No matter how much that meant Javier was honest in his words to you.

“That just makes you an asshole. To at least two women today,” you spit out. 

“And I want to make it up to one of them,” Javier said, pleading.

“Saying you love me doesn’t fix things,” you said. You were wary with your words. Javier might love you, but you couldn’t ignore that he never did relationships. Who was to say he would be able to do one with you?

“I know. Can I explain myself?” he said. At least he was trying.

You wanted to push him away. Slam the door on him and try to forget. This had only further complicated things. You wanted to give him a shot, but he had proven time and time again, over five years, that he wasn’t interested in relationships. You couldn’t trust that he wouldn’t fail you.

But then again, what other woman had he sacrificed nights out for? All so that you could vent about work or sit and drink with him. You were so close, it could practically be considered dating. That is, if you removed the dates and the kissing. That was what had killed you over the years. That was what you had to push down and try to forget.

But  _ Javier loved you _ . That wasn’t something you could ignore. More than anything, you were disappointed that this realization didn’t send you over the moon with joy. You wished it could have happened that morning when you were still hopeful. When you hadn’t been treated like shit. But the damage had been done, and now you struggled to even believe the words you were hearing.

You looked up at Javier. He was waiting for your response, one hand in the other, massaging his own fingers in the nervous gesture you recognized from days out in the field when he didn’t have cigarettes or alcohol to fall back on. It was cold too, out in the hallway, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and as much as he tried to hide it, you could see the goosebumps littering his skin.

Eyes drifting over his chest, you took in his appearance. He was very clearly just having sex, his pants haphazardly buttoned on and his lips were swollen. His cheeks were redder than usual and your eyes swept over his body. You remembered seeing him like this, back when you made him look that way. But this time it was another woman’s fault. 

Another woman that he had used and called her by your own name. It was admittedly one of the suckiest moves a guy could make, except throwing a girl aside as soon as you had had sex, as Javier had you. But you knew Javier would only beat himself up over it. And he was here, trying to make things right, saying words you thought he couldn’t ever say.

“Fine.” You stepped aside, holding the door open for Javier. He hesitated before stepping across the threshold, avoiding eye contact as he sat down on the edge of your couch. Javier propped his elbows onto his legs, leaned forward, and ran a hand through his hair. 

You watched him from the doorway, not sure if he was about to say something or would wait for you to come fully in. You closed the door and walked up to the edge of your kitchen island, leaning against the counter and facing Javier. The apartment was dark, a faint glow from the streetlights passing through your curtains washed the room with yellow. It lit Javier up from the back, giving his hunched figure an angelic glow. No matter how angry you were, he was always the most beautiful person you had ever seen. Somehow you had fallen for a man who had only gotten more stunning with age.

Standing against the island, hands behind your back, you take a deep breath. Javier has  _ got  _ to say something. Your mind is racing, unsure whether to fixate on how beautiful he is or how angry you are or how frustrating it is that he hasn’t said anything.

Javier looked up, mouth opening and closing without saying a word, and then he croaked out in a tear-marred voice, “I love you.”

“You’ve said that,” you said, trying to steady your breath. Hearing it the first time you weren’t sure what to think. This time, however, it was hard not to smile.

“I...I don’t know how to do this, Y/N,” he said.

Of course he didn’t. Javier hadn’t talked about emotions with anyone. The closest he’d probably gotten was drunken nights with you. Drunken nights where you  _ didn’t  _ have sex.

You could see how hard this was, admitting things, for him. Hell, you knew that the reason he had sex with so many unnamed faces and prostitutes was a coping mechanism for all the feelings he didn’t want to talk about. He hadn’t let anyone get close enough to him in a long time. He probably hasn’t loved anyone for even longer.

“Why don’t you start with explaining why you said that shit in the office,” you prompted. If you could understand why he hurt you like that when he supposedly loved you, maybe you could start making sense of things.

“You said it,” he sighed, “You heard everything, I don’t know what else—”

“Why did you wish it never happened?” you interrupted. “Because I don’t know if I wanted it or not, but I wouldn’t have regretted it. Not if you hadn’t made me feel like it was nothing more than a mistake.”

That was something you weren’t sure if you were ready to admit, but your mouth worked faster than your head sometimes.

“I wished you weren’t drunk, Y/N,” he said, “That’s what you weren’t letting me tell you earlier…. I wish I could have done that—kissed you—when we were both sober.”

Oh.

_ Oh. _

That changes things.

If he had wanted to do that? If he had said that and you had misunderstood? If you had yelled at him? Told him you couldn’t be friends anymore? Didn’t that make you the bad person?

“I woke up that morning, and you were right there—so fucking beautiful—and then I realized I had taken advantage of you. I didn’t want to have done that. I felt horrible,” he said in your silence.

You had both been idiots.

“I was hoping that morning that things would be okay, and then you weren’t talking to me,” you said. “I acted like one of your hookups, just laying myself out there for you. And you then treated me like one the next morning.”

Your voice cracked as you spoke and a few tears began to fall. You had tried so hard to remain stoic in front of Javier, but you couldn’t anymore. It was all too much, discovering that you had been wrong this whole time. That you had beat yourself up over everything when Javier was doing the same damn thing.

“Earlier today, when you said something about being a whore?” Javier said, swallowing. He looked up at you, and you stared back down at him.

You weren’t sure where this was going, and you hoped he wasn’t about to screw things over again. From what had happened in the past minutes, you had hope, but that speck of doubt still sat in your stomach.

“You’re not,” he continued. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being that, but Y/N, I know you. I know you better than anyone else. You’re the most amazing woman and I could never think of you as just another hookup.”

You were frozen in place. Javier was looking up at you. He was sitting up now, one hand gripping his other arm tightly. You had been so wrong. About everything.

“I’d wanted to do that with you for a year or so now,” Javier said.

_ ‘You have?’  _ you wanted to ask. But you didn’t. You could hardly believe what he was saying. You were only just starting to fully understand that he loved you. And to hear that he has for so long?

“Ever since the time you fell asleep on my couch, it wasn’t even eight and you were passed out after the day we’d had. You almost got shot earlier that day, I thought I was going to lose you,” he said. You remembered that day so vividly. “We  _ all _ almost died. And the look on your sleeping face, like nothing was wrong. And I was just so glad you were even there.”

That day had been awful. You had come along on a raid with Javier. Everything was fine until you were ducked beneath a shattered window of the apartment next to a sicario’s, bullets flying overhead. Javier was next to you. You would never forget the sound of the grenade going off meters away, on the other side of the wall. The pressure of the blast sending you two flying. Exposed, you made a run for it.

Someone had followed you down the streets and between buildings. The chase led you over rooftops and when you lost them you had collapsed, all energy gone.

Later, when you found Javier again, you returned home. You couldn’t go into your apartment alone. Your hands shook as you put the key in the lock, and you stood in front of your apartment, door open, but too scared to enter. Javier had come up behind you, led you into his place, warmed up a microwave dinner, and you ate in silence on the floor of his living room.

You were still shaking when you curled up on his couch and he wrapped you in a blanket, and you turned on the TV. He sat on the other end of the sofa, legs brushing against yours, and didn’t say a word.

Looking back, you knew you had loved him for most of your friendship. Moments like that where he made you feel like someone cared for you more than anything, those were what hurt the most. Knowing you’d never have him, as unavailable as he was for romance.

Apparently, you had been mistaken.

“Every day after that I’ve wanted to kiss you.” He stood up from the couch as he said those words. “I’ve wanted to hold you in my arms, and make sure a day like that would never happen again.”

“Why didn’t you?” you breathed.

“What?”

“Why didn’t you kiss me?”

“It’s the DEA, Y/N,” he sighed. “We can’t, we shouldn’t have. And either way, you were my friend, and you don’t, you know, obviously, feel the same way.”

You wanted to scream at him.  _ Of course you did. How could he not see that? _

Javier lowered his head. His voice was painful to listen to as he held back tears. “And I didn’t want to ruin it, like I did today.”

“Javi, I—” you started. He had ruined it, sure, but he had also more than fixed things. You still weren’t sure if you could trust him, but it didn’t matter because there was a sharp pain in your chest as you looked at Javier and saw the tears running down his face. Seldom did you see any man, especially Javier, this vulnerable.

_ He was putting his whole self on the line for you, and you were damn sure going to do the same. _

“I’ve wanted so much more from you, for a long time now,” you said, “I think I fell in love sometime in between beer bottles littering your coffee table and late nights watching crappy Colombian action films.”

You were smiling and sniffling and you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“I wasn’t sure if that night I let you kiss me because I was drunk or because I wanted it, but if you had caught me sober—” You lowered your voice to a whisper. “I would have done the same thing.”

Javier’s jaw had dropped a half an inch, mouth hanging slightly ajar, and you bit your lip. It was a lot to process. You had been wrong about many things, but most of all, you had missed out on Javier. You had missed out on everything.

Javier took a step closer to you.

“Are you sober now?” he asked.

“Yes?” you said.

He stepped forward again, right in front of you. You were pinned between Javier and the island as he stared down at you. The look on his face was intense, his eyes boring into your skin, his facial muscles softened. He placed one hand on the rim of the counter beside you. You could feel the heat radiating off of his bare skin.

“Good,” he said.

He reached one hand up to touch your cheek and leaned in. His face was inches away from yours when he stalled, letting you meet his lips. Your eyes fluttered shut as you made contact, his lips soft against your own.

You wrapped your arms around his body, and he moved the arm that was once beside you around your waist, pulling you away from the counter and into his chest. You were wearing your sleep shirt, and the thin fabric was not much of a barrier between you and Javier, causing you to gasp against his mouth.

“I’m never going to stop saying it, Y/N,” Javier said, “I love you.”

He swiped his thumb once across your lips before wrapping that arm around you too, holding you tight and close.

“I love you too.” You were breathing heavily, and you rested your head in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of his sweat and a light hint of cigarettes.

“I’m so sorry for making you feel like I didn’t,” he murmured into the skin of your shoulder.

“Javi, I’m sorry too. For pushing you away. I didn’t realize you—I was so scared. Scared that I had lost the person I cared about most,” you whispered.

He laughed softly, his frame shaking against yours. “I’m never gonna let you go, you know.”

You smiled. “Please don’t ever, Javi.”


End file.
